


Hope 6: The Great Apartment Hunt

by thebasement_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Humor, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-07-11
Updated: 2002-07-11
Packaged: 2018-11-20 06:38:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11330505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebasement_archivist/pseuds/thebasement_archivist
Summary: Alex moves to D.C.  Walter helps him find a place to live.





	Hope 6: The Great Apartment Hunt

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).

Hope 6: The Great Apartment Hunt

## Hope 6: The Great Apartment Hunt

#### by Jennie

TITLE: Hope 6: The Great Apartment Hunt AUTHOR: Jennie  
DISCLAIMER: They're mine - ALL MINE! But, I'm a generous person and am willing to share. FANDOM: XFiles  
PAIRING: Sk/K   
RATING: R - Yes, kids, we have sex. Not the Full Meal Deal yet, but they're getting there  
ARCHIVE: Absolutely  
Spoilers: Post series. No spoilers, per say - and, as always I'm deep in denial. Our Alex is NOT dead. No way. No how.  
NOTES: Okay, I admit it, it's a series. The first 5 parts and the interlude can be found at RatB, DitB, or Full House  
SUMMARY: See title  
BETA: Teri, Peach and Josan - and they did it all in one day! 

Hope 6: The Great Apartment Hunt  
by Jennie 

The trip was sheer hell. 

First, we had an extended delay at LAX because some fool tried to carry a weapon through the security checkpoint. Then, when the plane _finally_ was en route, we ran into turbulence somewhere near Topeka. A three hour layover to wait out the weather brought me close to the edge of insanity. Ever been to the Topeka airport? No? Consider yourself lucky. 

Upon arrival at Dulles, I waited - and waited - for my luggage to appear. It seemed that there had been cutbacks in the baggage handling department. I strongly suspected that there were two, maybe three, very old, very slow men carrying our bags from the plane to the terminal. One piece at a time. 

Just about the time I was gearing myself up to climb back into the luggage area and locate my own damned bags, they appeared. 

Off I went to Hertz. 

"I have no reservation in the name of Krycek, sir," the snooty little bitch informed me snidely. 

If only I had my gun... 

Pulling out my wallet, I withdrew my confirmation form and just barely restrained the impulse to throw it in her haughty face. Which was not nearly as attractive as she thought. 

"There." I carefully pointed to the paper. "Krycek comma Alexander. Vehicle to be picked up on this date." 

She carefully read the form, looked up into my do-as-Itell -you-or-I-will-shoot-your-not-so-pretty-ass expression, and blanched. Before you could say 'Ratbastard', I had a set of keys in my hand. 

"Space forty-four, maroon Lexus," she called after my rapidly departing self. 

Naturally enough, it was pouring rain as I trudged my way to 'space forty-four'. Which was, by the way, as far from the rental office as possible. 

Severely irked, wet, and with the beginnings of what promised to be a truly nasty migraine, I got on the road as quickly as possible. I managed to find a classical station on the radio, and concentrated on the music, trying to let go of my frustration, and relax. 

I arrived feeling somewhat calmer. The prospect of seeing Walt had overcome my bad mood, helped in large part by the recording of 'Carmen' on the radio and the soothing beat of rain against the car's roof. 

* * *

As I turned onto his street, I saw that he'd left the outside light on for me. To guide me. To welcome me. 

To welcome me home. 

It was strange, in a _very_ good way, to see him open the front door and step out to greet me the minute I pulled into the driveway. When I climbed wearily out of the car, he looked at me with concern and pulled me into a warm hug. 

"Rough trip?" 

I groaned. "The worst!" 

Releasing me, he grabbed my bags from the back seat and led me inside. 

It really did feel like coming home. 

He didn't press for details. He didn't even reproach me for being over three hours late and not calling. No, Walt simply took my sodden jacket away to drip-dry in the bathroom, telling me to sit on the couch and relax. 

I collapsed, removed my boots, and leaned my head against the back of the sofa. With a sigh, I closed my eyes. It vaguely occurred to me that he'd been gone far longer than necessary but I was so damn tired, I couldn't even gather enough energy to go and investigate. 

"Alex." 

I knew that voice. 

"Alex, wake up." 

Huh? Groggily, I opened my eyes to find Walt standing in front of me a mug of steaming something in one hand. 

"Come upstairs. I have a hot bath ready for you. You can soak while you drink this," he said, indicating the mug. 

"Whazzat?" 

He grinned. "Up, Alex. Bath. Hot toddy. Then bed." 

Frowning grumpily - I'd have been perfectly content to sleep on the sofa all night - I climbed to my feet and followed him upstairs. I did wake up a bit more when we went into his bedroom and my bags were there. So, that last email I'd sent had been well received. That was a good thing. 

We continued through the room into the master bath. Suddenly the prospect of a warm soak sounded better. And, whatever he'd put into the water smelled heavenly. I sniffed the air appreciatively. 

"Lavender and rosemary," he said, reaching to unbutton my shirt. "The lavender will relax you and the rosemary should help with that headache." 

How the hell did he know I had a headache? And _why_ was he fussing over me? I tried to bat his hands away from my clothes, informing him gruffly that I'd been undressing myself for quite some time now. He just chuckled at my objection and continued to strip me. 

Once I was naked, he held my arm as I stepped into the tub and settled into the warm water. Warning me to not 'fall asleep in there and drown', he put the mug of whatever it was on the bath's edge and turned to leave. 

"I'm going downstairs and finish up the chapter I was editing, then I'll be back." 

"Mmmhmm." 

Laying there, luxuriating in the care he'd shown me, I sipped his 'hot toddy' and just let my mind go blank. The past week had been hellacious. Moving, I'd discovered, was not fun. Not when one led a 'normal' life. Between wrapping things up at the home office and taking care of the endless details of relocating myself to another state, I'd had maybe six hours of sleep in the past five days. 

In some ways, my former life had been easier. No bank accounts, no credit cards - at least not in my own name \- and no apartment to clean out. On the other hand, I'd never had a Walter Skinner waiting for me in my new location. 

All in all, I considered my new life to have the edge. 

I'd finished the drink and was just nodding off again when he returned. Within mere minutes, he had me out of the tub, dried off and tucked into the bed. His bed. Joining me, Walt pulled me against himself, settled my head on his shoulder, and reached to turn off the bedside lamp. 

I wanted to tell him goodnight. Needed to tell him how grateful I was for his care. All I could do though, was fall asleep. 

* * *

The first time I woke up with my head on Walter's shoulder, my immediate thought was, 'What the hell have I done?'. This time, however, I knew where I was and why my pillow was moving. Even the snoring and rumbling didn't shock me. I cracked one eye open, noted the dimness that indicated a very early hour, moved my hand into position over his heart, and faded back into sleep. 

Some hours later, when awareness returned, I was alone in the bed. The tantalizing smells wafting up from the kitchen assured me that he was nearby. I sat up and groaned. God, I needed coffee! With that goal in mind, I pulled a pair of sweats and a long-sleeved T-shirt out of my suitcase, dressed hastily and stumbled downstairs. 

As anticipated, Walt was busily cooking. He turned at my entrance and smiled. "Morning, sleepyhead," he said, coming over and pressing a light kiss on my forehead. "Feeling better?" 

"Too early to tell," I croaked. 

His eyebrows rose above twinkling eyes. "It's almost noon, Alex." 

"You're shittin' me!" Looking at the clock, I saw that it was, indeed, nearly noon. "Damn," I groaned, collapsing into a chair. "Got coffee?" 

After two cups of much-needed caffeine, I began to feel somewhat human. "What're you cooking?" I asked. 

"Hashed browns," he said over his shoulder, not turning away from the stove. "I also made hollandaise sauce. For eggs benedict." 

Wow. I mean, _wow_... 

Guess Walter really was glad to see me. 

We ate a leisurely breakfast - or brunch - after which I insisted on handling the clean-up. It seemed the least I could do. Then we lounged on the sofa, legs companionably entangled, and read the Sunday New York Times and the Washington Post. Don't think I'd ever spent such a comfortable Sunday morning - well, okay, afternoon - in my life. 

Suddenly, he looked at the clock on the VCR and grabbed the TV remote. "Hope you like baseball," he said. 

"Depends on who's playing." 

"Cleveland Indians at Texas Rangers." 

"You're in luck, then, big guy. My favorite team is the Indians. Been following them for years." 

"Then prepare to watch them go down in flames. The Rangers are gonna stomp 'em into the dirt." 

We amiably argued the finer points of each team all through the pre-game show. Just as the first batter came up to home plate, the damned doorbell rang. 

Grumbling all the way, Walt went to open the door. Whoever was there shut him up in a hurry. I recognized the voice as female, but had no idea _which_ female it might be, until Dana Scully walked into the living room before him. 

Oh nooooo. This meant Mulder and their insufferable brats might well be close behind. I really didn't think I'd survive an afternoon of _that_. Trying to appear casual, I looked past them. 

Scully laughed. "Don't worry, I'm here alone. Mulder and the boys are at a Scout Jamboree." 

I tried - and failed - to picture that in my mind. Shook my head, then frowned. "And the girls?" I asked suspiciously. 

"Are with my mother." She sat in a wing chair and sighed happily. "All day." 

"Would you like something to drink?" Walt asked, ever the gentleman. 

"A beer," she said absently, watching the television. "Hey, is this the Indians - Rangers game." 

"Uh huh," I answered, as Walt had gone into the kitchen to get her drink. 

"Hot damn!" said the always proper Scully. "The Rangers are SO going to lose this one." 

Oh. Well, in that case, maybe she wasn't such an intrusion, after all. 

It was fun, actually - ganging up on Walt the way we did. The three of us yelled, shouted, and cursed; in other words, we behaved the way good baseball fans should. 

Two six-packs of beer and a large pizza with everything later, Walt poured Scully into his car and drove her home, yours truly following in her van. We dumped her off, making good our escape before Mulder and the children got home. 

"She do that often?" I asked, as he drove us home. 

"Every chance she gets. Which isn't often - Mulder and all four kids are seldom gone at the same time." 

Home again (it was getting easier and easier to think of Walt's house as 'home'), we cleaned up the debris from the afternoon and then just sat and talked quietly while watching the news. 

"We have an early day tomorrow," he informed me at one point. 

"Oh? Why?" 

"I made arrangements with a real estate agent to show us some apartments." 

Us? 

That was... interesting. 

"Okay," I agreed, more easily that I'd've expected. 

"The boxes arrived Friday. I put them in your room." 

_My_ room? 

I made a noncommittal noise. 

It's never ceased to amaze and confuse me that sitting around all day doing next to nothing makes one even more tired and sluggish than a full day's activity. By 10:30 we were both sleepy-eyed and yawning. 

Again, we slept in his bed together. And I do mean slept. Although both our spirits were willing, the constant yawning really got in the way of our attempt to 'make out'. 

Which was probably just as well, he reminded me. We did have that early appointment, after all. 

* * *

Apartment hunting with Walter Skinner is an experience I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy. By the end of day three, my blood pressure had no doubt risen to new and dangerous heights. 

The man was trying to drive me insane! 

Objection after objection. Nothing we looked at met his exacting specifications. 

"New building, Alex," he said on day one. He pointed upward and shook his head as the tenant in the unit above us stomped noisily across the floor. "Walls and ceilings are too thin." 

We weren't even inside the next building before he let his disapproval be known. "Structures this old call for too many repairs. You'd be constantly calling in the super to fix your wiring, your pipes, and God only knows what else." 

The next building was: "Too close to the Beltway. The noise would keep you up all night." 

We didn't even bother to go in and view that vacancy, moving on to another possibility: "Too isolated," he complained. "The silence would drive you crazy." 

Things didn't improve on the second day of looking: 

"Too far from the office. The commute would be awful." 

"Questionable neighborhood. One night you'd come home to find that you'd been robbed." 

"Too expensive." 

"Too cheap." 

"The landscaping isn't maintained. If the manager doesn't keep the outside up, it's likely that the same problem exists inside." 

And so it went... 

Amazingly enough, the real estate agent hadn't snatched herself bald in frustration. I, on the other hand, was _this_ close to killing the bastard. 

At the end of day three, our real estate agent threw up her hands in disgust and suggested, rather nastily, that I leave Walter behind - if and when I found myself a new agent. 

* * *

I seethed all the way home. Walt, innocence personified, tried several times to start up a conversation. I knew that if I opened my mouth, I'd lose control and say things that couldn't be taken back, so I remained silent, eyes fixed firmly on the passing scenery. 

By the time we arrived at Walt's house, I'd worked up a pretty good head of steam. I went upstairs, changed into a ragged pair of jeans, pulled on a sweatshirt, and headed out to the garden. Pruning the roses, I'd decided, would serve two purposes: 1) it was the right time of the year for the project; and, 2) the satisfying _crack_ as each branch was cut would help me work a bit of my anger and frustration out of my system. 

Once the teas were done, I turned my attention to the shrubs. Walt stepped outside to inquire if I might need any help. A snarly refusal on my part sent him back inside hastily. 

As I worked, not only was I not calming down, I found myself growing more and more angry every time I caught sight of him peering at me through a window. The fifth time I saw him watching me I snapped. Abandoning the shrubs, I headed for his prized climbers with evil intent. 

I'd just finished demolishing 'First Prize' and was starting in on 'America' when he came storming out of the house. 

"What in the hell are you _doing_?" 

"Pruning," _crack_ "your roses." _crack_ _crack_

"You don't prune the fucking climbers until after they bloom in spring." 

"I know." _crack_

"Then why the _fuck_ -" 

I dropped the shears and turned to face him. "If you didn't want me living here, why didn't you just come right out and say so?" 

"I don't-" 

"I'm calling my boss. We're opening a branch office in New York City. I have seniority - he'll have to agree when I tell him that _I_ want New York." 

The bastard actually had the nerve to look hurt. "Why? I mean, what makes you think I don't want you here?" 

"Go to hell," I snarled, moving to get past him, into the house and to the nearest phone. 

"ALEX!" he yelled, grabbing my arm. "What the fuck is your problem?" 

"How many apartments have we seen?" I asked witheringly. "In how many neighborhoods? Not _one_ of them met with your approval. Do you really think I'm so stupid that I can't see when I'm not wanted?" 

"Alex," he sighed, "that's not-" 

"You bring me into your house, feed me, take care of me, _sleep_ with me, and now you don't want me living near you?" I was practically shouting by this point. "I can take a hint. Don't have to spell it out for me. You like me well enough in the short term but, when push comes to shove, you don't want me around fulltime." 

Futilely trying to jerk my arm out of his iron grip, I glared at him. "Let. Me. Go." 

"Not until you calm down and listen to me." 

"Like hell," I grated. 

What followed was more than a little undignified. Two grown men, wrestling in the grass like a couple of kids, neither really wanting to hurt the other. Finally, he pinned me down, his heavy weight holding me in place, my wrists held above my head, our legs tangled together. 

I determinedly ignored the way his erection rubbed against mine. 

"You're wrong," he panted. "I don't... I mean I _do_ want you to stay in town, Alex. And," he avoided my eyes, a faint flush coloring his face, "I suppose a couple of the apartments we saw weren't _too_ awful. It's just that-" 

"Just that what?" 

"I'd rather you... lived here... with me." 

Oh. 

Oh? 

_OH_! 

"You could've just said so, you know." 

His color heightened. "Didn't know how," he said gruffly. 

"Okay... Well, I suppose this is a good time to tell you that I'd love to live with you." 

His hold on my wrists slackened and he stared at me, apparently quite stunned at my admission. "You would? Really?" 

With a sigh, I wrapped my good hand around the nape of his neck. "Yes," I told him. "Really." 

Then he kissed me. Or I kissed him. Whatever. Details aren't important. What mattered was the way his hands closed on either side of my head, holding me still. The way he groaned when my tongue slipped into his mouth. The jolt of electricity that shot through me when he ground his hips against mine. 

It was silly - embarrassing, even - to have our first intimate encounter in his yard. The idea of stopping, though, was unthinkable. Damn good thing he had a six foot fence around the back or we might have sent any unsuspecting neighbors into shock. 

With absolutely no finesse, we rolled to and fro, grunting and groaning, clutching desperately at each other, and, in general, acting like teenagers discovering sex for the very first time. 

With a shout - his poor neighbors probably thought someone was being killed - he came after an incredibly short amount of time. The look on his face, the sound of his voice, and the feel of his cock pulsing against mine, combined to send me hurtling over the same edge of ecstasy. 

"I haven't come in my jeans since I was a kid," he complained when he finally caught his breath. 

I laughed. Couldn't help myself, he looked so damned cute all embarrassed and proud and satisfied at the same time. Climbing to my feet, I offered one hand and hauled him up, too. Together, we staggered into the house. 

"You," he grumbled, "owe me two new roses." 

"No problem." 

No problem, indeed. This, after all, was now my home, too. I'd never had a yard of my own. This one, I vowed, would become the showpiece of the neighborhood. 

* * *

Notes:  
1) No, I don't deal with The Arm in this series - at least no more than I absolutely must. Been there, done that, got the one-armed T-shirt. 

2) The Indians won that game. In fact, they won the series. What the hell... they won the pennant that year! Hey, it _is_ fiction! 

Next up: "The Puppies" Got a good puppy story for me? Send it along. You never know, I just might use it. 

* * *

If you enjoyed this story, please send feedback to Jennie 


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